


patchwork girl

by theoboris



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoboris/pseuds/theoboris
Summary: Would it be so hard to be the tragic ex-musician my friends think I am? Or the young Welty that Hobie sees in me? Or the quiet, sweet girlfriend who laughs at all of Everett’s jokes and doesn’t stare too long at the girl who lives in the apartment below ours? Or… whatever it is Theo wants out of me? Any of those seem better than what I’ve got going on right now.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	patchwork girl

The Wizard of Oz was always my favorite. For every birthday for as long as I can remember, every Hanukkah, every big recital, Welty and Hobie would give me a gorgeous edition of one of the books. They were my treasures, my most valuable possessions. I spent hours with them, just staring at the covers. Oz was like my second home. 

On my tenth birthday, I unwrapped a copy of _The Patchwork Girl of Oz_ (picked out by Hobie, but he wouldn’t let Welty give him the credit for it), and before I could read a single word of it, I decided it was my favorite. I was always excited for new books in the series, but staring at the cover of this one, I felt something stronger. Even just that phrase, “Patchwork Girl,” enthralled me. I fell in love with it. 

For the next few years, if you knew me, you knew the Patchwork Girl. Whenever I did a book report, it was the book I chose. The influx of copies of _Ozma_ and _The Emerald City of Oz_ slowed, and instead, I could count on a copy of _Patchwork Girl_ for every holiday. I had two excellent Halloweens in a row, both of which involved me explaining to people, with growing frustration, that my costume wasn’t just a scarecrow.  


It wasn’t until after the museum that I realized I was the real Patchwork Girl. I had read her story over and over, starry eyed, and had never picked up on why I had been drawn so much to her story, even though it was by no means the best of the books. I was her. 

A character I had fallen in love with suddenly seemed impossible to love. What is there to love about a girl so covered in patches and seams that you can’t even see who she is? What could I have liked about her? And why had I loved it in her, but on myself, thought it ugly and shameful? 

I didn’t bring a single copy with me to Texas. Hobie asked if there was something wrong. 

Since the explosion, it's the only way I’ve been able to think of myself. It’s like I’ve been walking around with it painted on my face, a constant subtitle under my name, doomed to follow me forever. Like I might as well just wear that Halloween costume every day. Like I’m destined to forever be Pippa Blackwell: Patchwork Girl. Like “Oh, look at me, look at how my edges are frayed and I’m falling apart at the seams, look at how no matter who seems to take care of me, they can’t put me together quite right, look at them, watch how they try to add new patches to cover up the ones they don’t like, so I’m just mismatched and fraying and not even myself anymore, but just a horrible amalgamation of what a million other people want me to be.” 

I can’t even figure out who I’d rather be. All I can do is glance down at patches and identify what everyone else wants. Would it be so hard to be the tragic ex-musician my friends think I am? Or the young Welty that Hobie sees in me? Or the quiet, sweet girlfriend who laughs at all of Everett’s jokes and doesn’t stare too long at the girl who lives in the apartment below ours? Or… whatever it is Theo wants out of me? Any of those seem better than what I’ve got going on right now.

I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out. For now I’ll keep on picking at the loose threads. Who knows, maybe I’ll make some patches of my own.


End file.
